13 Ways I'm Not a Ninja
by CackleRubblePop
Summary: And then? And then there's nothing. And Heaven's a foolish tale.
1. Hey, it rhymes

Chapter One

It was a surprisingly wet day in the village. Thousands upon thousands of tiny rain droplets plummeted to the ground, either landing in puddles and lakes or, more often than not, landing somewhere on the ground and running off to puddles and lakes. Not many people have ever wondered why rain droplets seek companionship with the watery bastards that made them want to leave the cloud in the first place, and Naruto certainly wasn't one of them.

He was more concerned with the leak in his ceiling, and what he would do with the pot of water when it was filled. Normally he would wait for someone to come out from the apartment below and greet them with a pleasantly unexpected shower of carefully gathered wetness, but nobody would go outside today.

Not even crackpots like Sasuke, who insisted on training even in the worst weather, would go outside today. He would still train, of course, just inside one of the many houses his older brother had thoughtfully rendered unoccupied. Naruto wondered if his fellow teammate had ever considered renting out space. Not that he needed the money, or anything, because he didn't. Family fortune, and all that.

Speaking of family fortune, the Uzamaki clan had either spent theirs prior to their demise, or didn't had any to begin with. Money was becoming increasingly hard to come by for the boy, and the worst part was, people had started to notice.

Just last week, his grocer had tossed in a few extra veggies free of charge, trying to keep karma at the top of his priority list. Sakura offered to take him on a complementary shopping trip after discovering the little blonde wore his clothes two…three…sometimes even four days in a row to save water. He refused, of course. Food charity was all fine and good, but shopping just wasn't in his nature. The food charity for today, however, was making him rather nervous.

"Hello?" Naruto spun around—not so much a spin as a poorly executed turn. The sharp corner of the kitchen sink, tired of being used for ordinarily bathroom duties, dug vengefully into his lower back. The cheap yellow plastic of a fifty-cent toothbrush groaned under the pressure of an oddly vulpine set of teeth.

A painfully average man peered around the door, his moderately square chip plagued with a worried frown. His dull black eyes scanned the room, driven by a morbid sense of curiosity, dread, hope, and unyielding compassion all at the same time. A boring, hastily-constructed ponytail followed loyally behind his average head; it was a very average black, too. Not the shiny kind. Sensei Iruka, in fact, would have been the most average, boring person in Konoha, if it weren't for the scar. It ran horizontally across the bridge of his nose, stopped to take a break, and eventually finished just below the center of both eyes. It was, for unexplained reasons, a very sexy scar. Any friends Iruka had could thank the scar for introducing them. Any friends except Naruto. Often times his teacher wondered if he even noticed it was there. The thought of someone noticing him for something other than a quirky facial appearance was comforting, and at the same time, he wished the boy would at least ask him where it came from.

"Iwuka Shenshei!" Naruto grunted, removing himself from the pointy wrath of the kitchen sink. The toothbrush obscuring his speech was hastily removed and dropped in a plastic cup next to the faucet, which tipped over and spilled its contents into an unwashed, weeks neglected bowl. Naruto thought better of turning around, smiled with such charm he never thought possible, and waved an arm over his meager surroundings. "Welcome to Chateau Naruto."

_AN: Well, yes, hello._


	2. The Intricacies of Hairstyling

Chapter 2

If you have ever tried to coordinate an outfit, put it on the right way, and examine the job you've done in a mirror about the size of your head, you know what Naruto felt like. It's not that he liked small mirrors, disliked large ones, or took joy in presenting complicated situations for himself; it's just that he'd never had a need for a full-length mirror. Sure, once in a while he'd brush his hair or attempt to murder an over-sized pimple before heading off to school, but it never really mattered. Before he became a part of Team 7, the only people who noticed or cared about how disgusting and filthy he was were his neighbors, and they were old. More importantly, however, they weren't Sakura. Since graduation, he'd tried to keep up with his appearance in hopes of winning over his fair lady's heart, but something in his brain never told the young boy that wearing the same clothes every day was a deterrent to his love life.

A rough, calloused hand raked through the mess of blonde hair, trying in vain to part it at the side, or at least keep that cowlick down.

"Naruto… your hair…" Iruka pressed firmly down of the boy's head, frustrated. Naruto jerked away from the oppressive fingers of his teacher and shook. The beginnings of a nice, All-Konoha Boy hairstyle were, once again, subjugated by the hair's malice towards All-Konoha Boys… like Sasuke.

"Don't touch my doo!" He cried, giving the older man a disappointed look, and of course… "It took me hours to get it this way!" …lied. Naruto made up for his lack of hairstyling techniques with the mastered art of deceit. No, petty lying. Naruto made up for his lack of hairstyling techniques with the mastered art of petty lying. Lying was easier than looking good anyway. You couldn't pretend to look good, but you could pretend not to have thrown that rock.

Iruka sighed, fiddling with the other imperfections in the boy's outfit. The collar, for one, was all wrong. Missed a button, this shirt is much too short to tuck in… don't you have another one? That belt could be tighter, and for God's sake tie your shoe…

"I'm sorry, it's just…" He smoothed out the last of many wrinkles on Naruto's shirt and smiled. "I'm nervous about her meeting you."

"Well it was her idea in the first place, she asked for it." Naruto's hands rose to his forehead, stopped, and went back down when they realized nothing was there. He always played with his headband when he felt he'd done something noteworthy, and to be quite honest, it made his achievements less spectacular without it. "Besides, she's used to kids like me." Iruka gave a reluctant nod. Okami Inuzuka was a sweet, kind, wonderful girl, but she sure knew how to raise a delinquent. Often times her brother Kiba had received the blunt end of a punishment from him, right along side Naruto and Shikamaru. But considering the poor girl had to raise him by herself, Iruka thought she'd done a fine job.

It was actually kind of weird, Naruto never meeting her. The two of them spent enough time pulling pranks together, and they seemed to be in the hospital at the same time, all the time. It was a miracle the boys could pay for it all. But even after all that, all he'd ever seen of the girl was in pictures. However, this did not bar him from passing a much defined judgment on her. She was an ugly hag, as all women over the age of sixteen were, the fox boy said the first time Iruka mentioned her name, and much too young for a twenty-four year old, when he'd mentioned their dating.

She wasn't _that_ much younger than him, I mean, only by five years. But it did feel kind of wrong dating someone under twenty. Dirty is the more appropriate adjective. Almost scandalous. Quite possibly _Come Come Paradise_ material, only without the kinky sex. Not that Iruka doesn't like kinky sex, but that's getting a bit off topic.

It stopped raining. The packed dirt roads had become marshy. A boy's only pair of good black shoes sank into the spongy ground up to the suede, excess water, seeping through the fabric and swirling around his feet. Naruto crunched his toes together. There was life in the ground now, and he missed his sandals. All he had with shoes was warm water and a really cool sucking noise when he walked, but with sandals, he had fun. He imagined the mud curling up over the edge of his feet, filling in the spaces between his toes, and providing a pleasantly smooth natural sock. He could practically **feel** the heartbeat of the earth, the grass that sprouted beneath his feet and the little creatures that lived off it. He was faced with the overwhelming urge to just lie down and take it all in. Naruto really **changed**; he really **lived** when he was closer to nature. His fingers grew into dull points, his gums ached with the itchy sensation of a child getting its first tooth. They grew too. Everyday smells became more acute, more real than they had ever been as his nostrils flared, an unnaturally long tongue reaching up to lick the tip of his nose. Miso ramen mixed with the sweet decay of the dirt beneath him penetrated his senses, taking his mind off the shocking revelation that he could _see_, really _see_ past the sky, into a calmer, deeper blue. The leaf that lands symbolically on his forehead is zoned in on. The intricate system of veins and cell walls are the most interesting thing eyes that act as though they'd never been opened before. The wonderful sinking sensation becomes reality as the mud creeps up his neck. His already unruly hair bristles with excitement, and his ears twitch at the sound of it. He can hear the planet growing, and it is so much more than he could have ever asked for.

"Naruto?" A confused, paternally saturated voice broke through the awesome fantasy. Iruka stood before his former student with a hand on his shoulder. "You okay?" Naruto blinked, nodded, and continued walking, the details of his daydream already slipping away from him. It was going to be a long day.

AN: Yeah, I don't remember if they ever mentioned Kiba's sister's name, but I couldn't find it anywhere, and no one seemed to know what it was. If you know, by all means, inform me.


	3. Elsewhere

Chapter 3

A steady stream of water poured over the roof of the little temple. Bamboo chutes out in the garden overflowed and tipped, draining its contents into the small fish pond under the bridge. The constant 'clack' of one chute hitting the next sent a blanket of security throughout the compound, for someone who'd been hearing it all his life. The once bustling headquarters of Konoha's most famous ninja clan boomed with the sound of silence, sweet silence. The rhythmic tapping could only be heard in a few surrounding feet, and the rain drowned that out anyways. The rain was dark, sinister: sucking up every other sound and pushing it out for another time. The rain here was not the same as it was anywhere else. Any person who entered here would feel the oppression, the weight, the deep sad sorrow of the sky, and would wish only to turn and run. The ghosts of the Uchiha family still lived, and they didn't take kindly to strangers. Especially not after what happened.

The cold unease would melt away, though, further along the down the oath, where the bamboo could be heard. Nothing but warmth, a pleasant calm surrounded those little stone steps overgrown with moss and slick with rain. The temple was the only place that seemed to be well kept.

Sasuke kneeled inside of it, his handsome forehead pressed against the old rice mats. He wasn't praying: the Uchiha clan hadn't been very religious, and as they were all dead, weren't about to start. Nevertheless, it felt nicer to sit before the shrine with his head against the floor than it did to sit at home. People were murdered at home. Blood, pain, tragedy, the threads of the nightmare tapestry. Nothing like that was near the gardens. Nothing related to the incident was anywhere near the temple, in fact. Even the heavy stone urns of his family were picked up and moved into various houses along the compound's walls. Sasuke felt pretty bad about it, true, but they gave him a feeling of unease in the only place that could ever make him feel otherwise.

The so-called secret of his family was scratched out of the wood beneath the mats, leaving a slight dip in the floor. Any normal person wouldn't have noticed, but to Sasuke, the slight dip became a ravine. He tried not to walk there, in that ravine. It was full of decay, full of old things his family didn't want anymore and maybe never did. But he couldn't let that spoil his temple. The temple was the only building left untouched by blood, and in a way, it helped him put things in perspective. Even the most pure, the most beautiful things could harbor deadly secrets, and vile intentions. They were very much alike, the building and the boy. Beneath that breath-taking exterior lie more scratches, more murderous intent, and most noticeably the neglected mind of a child curled up on the floor, sobbing.

A cool mist cascaded over the windowsill and hit the plush carpeted floor silently, spreading out across the field of pink fiber and swirling around the ankles of a young woman at her vanity. It smelled wonderful; the smell of fresh rain. Her perfume, also Fresh Rain, was just a little sweeter, and she briefly considered not wearing it at all. But she did, just a little bit, on her neck. She examined her nails critically, checking for any minor flaws: a chip, maybe some dark spots in the Princess Pink polish. There were none. Her nails were perfect. She ran them over the top of her head, brushing away the few vagrant strands of hair overlapping her headband. With eyeliner perfected, just the right amount of glitter on her lips, and an outfit any teenage boy couldn't help but notice, Sakura was ready to go. The only thing that was out of place was that freakish, disgusting forehead of hers. But, now wasn't the time to worry about that. Now she had to worry about her walk. She wasn't used to moving with heels on her feet, and considering the marshy ground outside, it was going to be difficult. Hell, it was hard enough walking on solid ground, Sakura thought as she wobbled down the stairs, knuckles white on the railing. Now all that's left to do is—

"Saku, honey?" Shit. Sakura's mother sat on the couch, flipping through a copy of "Kosmopolitan Kunoichi". She turned her head, her big green eyes and broad forehead mirroring those of her daughter's. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going out with some friends." Sakura lied; walking briskly passed her mother before she could see the blush on her face that always crept in when she stretched the truth.

"When will you be back?" Her mother asked with a sigh, turning back to her magazine.

"I don't _know_, mom!" It was a little terser than she liked, but at least it didn't give her mother time to make a suggestion before she shut the door behind her.

Sakura's mother smiled as a pair of small, calloused hands ran across her shoulders.

"Your daughter is such a troublemaker, Seji." A mop of pink hair, just long enough to extend below the ninja's eyebrows brushed against his wife's cheek.

"Uchiha's boy again?" Haruno Seji's voice was higher than most men are, being almost feminine, and it had caused him a lot of grief in his younger years. But much to the dismay of his much manlier classmates, the frail little botanist Seji had snagged the classically beautiful, fun-loving babe that had been the object of many boys' desire. He really hated himself for thinking it, but the woman he married was much more wonderful than the woman he created.

"I feel so bad for that boy." Seji melted under her honey-sweet voice and the feel of her soft cherry lips as she kissed his cheek. "God forbid something like that happen to our family." Yes, Seji frowned, God forbid.

AN: I got the coolest flame, right? Look, CC is when you offer advice and explain why you did or didn't like a story, and what can be done about it. A flame is senseless bashing, which is what I have recieved. Please, for the love of Buddha, know the difference. By the way: What is a chickenshit asshole? My school used to have chickens, before we killed them, and the shit definately left their assholes.

Thanks to the other reviewers, though. I'm glad to answer your questions about the story, and please, feel free to ask more.


	4. Frustrating Mess

The old-style sliding door opened smoothly despite years of neglect, surprising Sasuke, putting to waste the extra strength he thought he needed and causing him to stumble backwards. A cloud of dust erupted from the house and hovered lazily in the spring air, and he coughed. The building, his aunt's house, was small and almost bare of furniture. Her bed was still made, as all of them still were, and one of her dresser drawers was open. Paintbrushes littered the floor and huddled in groups in vases, on the windowsill, and even on her bed. Countless canvases and papers, some painted and others blank, were scattered everywhere, as if someone hostile had come in and knocked them all over. Oh yeah, that's right, that's what happened, huh? The houses in the Uchiha Compound were primarily the same as the night their inhabitants were murdered. Only a few essential things had been moved or sold, and even then Sasuke hated doing it. More and more he was finding himself breaking into his family's houses, taking their things, and pawning them off. It was horrible, disgusting, and dishonorable, but he needed the money. Without a job, and the constant paranoia of losing the wealth his parent's left him, taxes for the entire area were hard to come by. The village went easy on him, as it did for all orphans, letting him pay later and later each time. His family had a lot of valuables: junk to most people, but valuables to the boy who'd lost their owners. Nevertheless, the people of Konoha were always willing to pay for and collect this junk from Ryuhei's Pawn Shop. Ryuhei himself was never too keen on paying as much as Sasuke thought the items were worth, but he understood how difficult it was to get rid of family treasures, having never been able to put his father's old things up for sale, and usually gave him a fair deal.

The young buy doubted he would find anything of value in Aunt Wakaba's house, though. She was hardly the type to keep anything like that. The stagnant smell of old paint tickled his senses, causing him to turn his head back to the clean air of the outside and sneeze violently. Sasuke's deep brown eyes scanned his humble surroundings as he wiped his nose on the back of his hand. Paintings of everything from Paris to the veins of the wooden bed posts made up the carpets, the bedspread, and extremely gaudy wallpaper. But despite the haphazard way they were all thrown together, Sasuke noticed, some of them were actually quite nice. There were pictures of places he'd never seen before, flipping through a large stack on Aunt Wakaba's desk. Ancient ruins some, exotic beaches others, modern cities, high society; things the woman had probably never seen either. Sasuke sighed, tossing the stack on her bed. Personally, he had no interest in that kind of thing, but maybe some cheap-ass on a trip to Ryuhei's would. He yanked the top drawer of his aunt's old pinewood desk open and pulled out a few extraneous papers. Letters, memos, some tape, a few paper clips, and an unmarked manila folder. These things were removed and flung to the bed with the paintings. They would be thrown out later. The next drawer down was full of tasteless photographs of everyday objects like the desk in front of him, the ceiling lamp, and whole rolls of a fat gray cat named Elvis. More garbage. He pulled open the left drawers simultaneously and flipped through the contents with little hope of finding anything useful. There was nothing, go figure, and he gave a low grunt of frustration. Sasuke took a large black garbage bag from his back pocket, unfolded it, and shook. It was a big bag, but his Aunt certainly had more than enough garbage to fill it. A small, smooth hand grabbed piles of old papers and dropped them into the bag without a care. If he was lucky, and scraped the paint off, somebody might buy the desk. It would need some new finish, and it looked like one of the legs was a little loose, but other than that it was a pretty good desk. Sasuke grabbed the papers he'd thrown on the bed without looking. The contents of the manila folder came spilling out onto the floor.

"Damn." He tossed the papers and empty folder into the bag and bent down to gather what he had dropped. They were more photographs. He picked up the top one with a sigh, and eyed the pencil writing on the back. Boys, 13 and 7. Curiously, and with a severe sense of dread, Sasuke turned it over. A young boy clung desperately to the back of his older counterpart—older, but still young. They both wore the traditional navy blue Uchiha shirts with the wide collars, and they were both smiling. Two happy boys, enjoying the summer sky, the warm yellow sunshine, the sweet smell of Jun's Bakery, and of course, each other's company. Sasuke drew a sharp breath, tracing a finger over his own childhood face, so pleased, so immensely excited to be spending time with his older brother he couldn't have possibly seen what would happen next. But as he looked at the older boy now, he hated himself for not realizing something was wrong. The large Uchiha hands (which Sasuke had, for whatever reason, not inherited) that gripped the legs of the little boy were cut, calloused, weathered more than most men's. He could see, peering out from underneath the bandages, deep, scarring cuts along his arms and legs. A pair of defined stress lines decorated his brother's face, depressing even his smile. The smile was real, it was happy, it was having fun; but it seemed strained in a way that it almost hurt him to smile, like it was hardly worth it at all. Sasuke remembered seeing that smile a lot, never noticing the change from the smile his brother often sported before joining the Anbu. It was sad. It hurt to look at it. Itachi's eyes, deep brown orbs identical to every blood member of his family, were sunken back in his skull—a desperate attempt to hide the strife someone might otherwise witness. Eventually, they saw it anyways. They all did. They just didn't live long enough to think about it.

The soft, soothing cool of the rainy morning had changed to a hot, sticky spring afternoon. Here and there a few raindrops still dripped from the waxy green leaves of Konoha's abundant forests, or sat collected in the bowl of some wildflower, but for the most part, they had all since been absorbed and dried up. Sasuke closed his eyes, trying hard to recreate the sound of the garden chutes in his mind. It didn't work. It wasn't as good when it wasn't real. Just like the pictures. Dozens of Aunt Wakaba's photos littered the floor of his room, all of them Itachi and himself. It's funny how he never remembered her taking them. But, there they were: happy face upon happy face, fun-time memories and laughs, all catalogued in an unmarked folder in his crazy relative's desk drawer. He flipped through them again and again as an old red radio played static love songs from the oldies collection. Sasuke shuffled through the pictures faster and faster, eyes glazed over in thought. What exactly should he do with them? He loved his memories, as he loved his brother once. He loved the games they played, the talks they had, all those times he watched his brother train… and yet, he hated them all with a greater passion than most people will ever know. The very sight of Itachi within the walls of the compound disgusted him. The ignorance and bliss of his own boyhood self-branded the deepest corner of his being with an intense hatred he sometimes had a hard time keeping down. He should destroy these photos. Nothing so vile, so repulsively distasteful should ever be allowed into his house, not ever ever again. He'd scrubbed the floors, redone the packed dirt paths and ruined gardens. He'd tried so hard to keep out the bad, evil things, and somehow they always managed to creep back in. Was it because of him? It was a character flaw, to fix things, leave them be, and never notice them until they needed fixing again. It was a flaw, and it would have to be irradiated. He was a good boy, a clean boy, a smart boy. And if he needed to train for days without rest to keep himself that way then by god he would. He had to. One mistake and he would go against his father and become Itachi. He had to destroy his weaknesses the only way he knew how: beat them out.

"I didn't know you painted your toenails." Sasuke's head snapped up at the penetration of his thoughts. For a split second, the worst had happened. He dropped the photos down on the bed in front of him and grabbed the kunai from his nightstand. His big brown eyes widened and became red as he rolled forward from heel to toe, raising the blade back behind his head to kill. A bottle of dark liquid tipped over near him and spilled its contents onto his bare feet. Startled, he looked down to examine the origin of this strange little accident.

"S-Sasuke?" He blinked, his eyes relaxing back to their normal color. He lowered the kunai slowly, knuckles still white on the grip. The dark, sinister figure of his brother smirking in the doorway had changed in a flash to a small, pink-haired girl in a miniskirt, eyes wide with fear and hands clasped together over her breast.

"Sakura?"

"I-I'm sorry. T-the f-f-front door was open, and I-I…" She swallowed and licked her glittered lips. "I didn't know you painted your toenails." Sasuke looked down at his feet, to where the liquid had spilled. It was a bottle of black nail polish. His toenails were painted the same color. When had he done that? And where had he gotten the nail polish? "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to scare you." Sakura shook her head, and nervously took a step forward. The wicked black polish oozed over his toes and down in between them to stain the navy blue blanket.

"Sakura," Sasuke gingerly removed the bottle from its position and set it on the nightstand. "I'm sorry, but I have to ask you to leave." He didn't dare look at her. He pretended to be interested in the bottle, drumming his fingers in the slick black puddle on his foot.

"But Sasuke—"

"I asked you to leave." His voice remained forcibly level. She was annoying as hell, but somehow getting mad at her would only make it worse.

"Okay… well… um… bye, Sasuke." He looked up as he heard her turn, and her heels clack down the hard wood floors, the mats, and finally out the front door.

"Well that was embarrassing." A low, scratchy voice poured through the wooden slats of the corner closet. Sasuke reached for his kunai out of reflex and stopped when the tips of his fingers brushed the grip tape. Last time he went on reflex he scared the shit out of Sakura. He thought she was Itachi, for god's sake. Maybe he was losing his mind. He wiggled his fingers at the blade and withdrew them, leaning against the headboard and closing his eyes.

"Where did you get it?" The voice asked. Not there, not there… Sasuke told himself as he squeezed his eyes tighter shut. "You went in my room, didn't you?" No, no he didn't. Why would he? It's locked, he locked it. He would never go in there, not ever. "You went in my room and took my stuff, didn't you?" No, it's locked. He threw away the key, it's locked. "You're wearing my clothes." Sasuke's eyes shot open. His small hands grabbed at the navy blue t-shirt, pulled it off as quickly as possible, and flung it at the closet door. The worn black pants with the gauze wrapped around the left leg? Where had he gotten these? They looked like they belonged to… his fingers frantically tore at the button and zipper, and pushed them off, first with his hands and kicking them with his feet. He scrambled to the other side of the bed with pants in hand and hurled them at the closet with his shirt.

"If someone saw you, in your underwear, nails painted, kneeling in a puddle of your brother's cosmetics, what would they think of you?" Sasuke opened his mouth to speak, scream, yell, anything, but his throat was dry and his mouth felt like it was filled with sawdust. His shoulders shook; his fingernails dug crescent moons into the skin of his knees. There was nothing in the closet. He could hear his brother's voice mocking him from behind the wooden slats, but he couldn't see anything. All there was were clothes. Clothes and that voice. His brother's voice. No, not his brother's, Itachi's. His brother was kind to him, he had fun with him, and he loved him. "Even if you hate me." Sasuke took a deep breath, ragged and sore. "We're unique brothers."

"You're not my brother." He whispered, suppressing the tingle in the back of his throat that called for his voice to crack and the floodgates open.

"To surpass our own limits,"

"You're not my brother."

"You and I need to stick together."

"You're not my brother!" He screamed, grabbed the empty bottle of nail polish, and threw it at the closet door. The glass shattered on impact, polish still stuck to the sides splattered on the slats like a sickening black bloodstain. The voice was quiet. Sasuke fell back against the headboard, put his head in his hands, and cried.


	5. Firefly

Fat, heavy clouds hung menacingly over Konoha's dark landscape, blotting out the dim light of the moon and threatening to pour their contents at any second. Sasuke watched their reflections pass by on the water's surface with eyes half-closed, pupils staring at some unseen point deep down past visibility. His feet, naked of their usual rubber black sandals, created ripples with their rhythmic, swirling patterns. He noted dully that his toenails were still black. The aluminum dock just outside the Uchiha Compound was bitterly cold and wet with early morning dew, but Sasuke let his clothes absorb the moisture, only faintly aware that his skin was growing goosebumps.

The sun would rise in about an hour, but so far there wasn't any sign of it. Not that Sasuke would have noticed. He was preoccupied with the all-too-familiar face staring up at him: long, greasy black hair shrouded a face of deathly pale like a cloak to offset the pair of murderous eyes. Stress lines and a fixed frown, hard jaw that was nonetheless smooth and round. A beautiful face, just like any Uchiha should have.

"Hate me." It whispered, though its lips never moved. "Loathe me. If you want to survive…" The reflection blinked and tilted its head to one side. "Cling to life, like the coward you are." It hissed bitterly through a choke of tears. A drop of salt water trailed down his face and through his parted lips, from which malicious curses and threats were pouring out, and Sasuke realized he was talking to himself.

The reflection wavered slightly to reveal what he had feared. The face he thought was his brother's was actually his own; tear-stained and filthy, with bags under the eyes and a scowl painted on just below the nose.

Sasuke kicked the water violently, tensing his arms and pushing himself forward slightly, as if he actually planned on jumping in. It was the same as when he was young. The face on the water, Itachi's words, the feeling of betrayal, resentment, and finally, revenge. It was sad, that a child so young could understand these emotions. One moment feeling safe and secure, the next empty and defenseless. It would have been the same if he had achieved his childhood dream of becoming a police officer, only to find the station had closed down in favor of regular ninja.

His dreams were so silly back then. Just a little pup, fresh out of the mint, innocent to the world and its torments. Now they were more practical, he was sure. Revenge and Rebirth. It would happen, too. Not like that police crap. It had to. Without it, he had no drive, no motivation. Without it, he was just a clever little asshole.

He did push himself off the dock, not even realizing at first and finding himself gasping for air. He steadied, and lie back on the icy water. Pretty little lights danced before his eyes, twinkling on and off under the sky with playful ease. Sasuke wanted to reach out and touch one, but his hand had lost the will to move, and lie motionless next to him.

"Firefly." He burst out, louder than he knew. The little yellow light went out, and the boy's eyes floated past to the clouds above. Clouds. It would rain again soon. Sasuke hated rain. He hated all weather. It could be the perfect temperature, but after training it would be too hot, and if it was too hot to begin with then there wasn't any hope of it getting better. When it was too cold, at least it would warm up if he moved around, but when it rained, he couldn't do anything. It was hard to work when it was wet. He sat at the temple when it rained, to listen to the bamboo chutes tap against each other in the garden. But nothing was ever accomplished on rainy days. He supposed he would never kill anyone on a rainy day. He hated them, just as much as he hated the sun for being so warm, and the moon for not giving off enough light. He hated them all.

One hand mindlessly paddled back and forth, spinning his body round in circles. Water filled Sasuke's ears, and he could hear the blood pounding inside his head. Short black hair, meticulously kept, spread about his head and mixed with the darkness of the water so it looked like he was growing out of it, or being pulled in.

The painted black toenails curled and uncurled themselves under the surface, afraid that they might perhaps turn blue.

_What would they think of you?_ The harsh voice echoed in his ears, distorted and muffled by the water. _Sitting in a puddle of your brother's cosmetics? What would they think of you?_ And the thing was, he was actually concerned. But why should he care about what other's thought of him? He ignored girls' ridiculous attempts to flirt with him, he shied away from conversation, and made sure to point out the short-comings of others, so what should their opinions mean to him? Was it… something deeper?

"_Father?" Sasuke stepped cautiously into the room where his father stood, smoothing the wrinkles on his stiff police uniform._

"_Yes, Sasuke?" He didn't bother to look away from the mirror._

"_Um… all our family are ninja, right?"_

"_Not all Uchiha are, no, but you will be." He said so dispassionately, not encouraging, but more as an obvious fact. Like it was fate, and there was no way to escape._

"_Will… will I be as good as Itachi?" The little boy looked up at his father, wide-eyed and full of hope. Fugaku turned to his son for the first time. His face was stern. The deep-set lines around the corners of his mouth dug further into his face. He looked almost disgusted._

"_You're still too young to know yet."_

"_I hope I am!" The boy smiled, following his father out of the room._

"_I hope," Fugaku grabbed his coat and headed for the door. "You become a fine ninja, Sasuke."_

Sasuke stuck his tummy back up, the rush of memory nearly causing him to forget he was floating. Floating. It felt good. He wished he could do it all the time. He wished he didn't have to deal with people, with memories, none of that. He wished that if something started to bother him, he could just float on up to the clouds. Those big, stupid clouds above the weather of the world.

"Will I be as good as Itachi?" He muttered to himself as the first drops of rain splashed against the water. One got in his eye, and he pulled a hand out of the icy pond to rub at it. It was weird. From where he was, looking up at the bluish gray sky of dawn, it didn't look like the rain would hit him. It looked like it started from the sky and spread out, just to avoid his pretty face. Sasuke stuck out his tongue and waited for a drop to land there. He wondered if Kakashi would still come if it was raining. Then again, maybe he'd imagined the note, like he'd been doing a lot of things lately. He _was_ losing his mind, after all. He'd have to keep an eye on that. It could be dangerous.

Sasuke's tongue flinched as the soft 'pat' of moisture fell against it, and he immediately drew it in to find a taste. It tasted bland, like it was clear, almost. It was that taste you get in your mouth after sucking in a big gust of wind, or when you stand with it open during a real storm. Sasuke imagined it was what the sky tasted like. Maybe the rain took little pieces of the sky with it as it fell. So then the sky was falling. How long could this go on before the whole thing collapsed? How much time did he really have? Would he…die before he was finished? He didn't want to die, not ever. He _would_ live: He had to.

"Swimming, Sasuke?" Sasuke pulled his head out of the water and whirled around to face the voice. His teacher stood at the end of the dock, one hand in his pocket and the other holding an umbrella over his head. "That's probably not a good idea. I heard there was supposed to be lightning."


	6. Living Wise

_I remember, I remember,_

_The fir trees dark and high;_

_I used to think their slender tops_

_Were close against the sky:_

_It was a childish ignorance,_

_But now 'tis little joy_

_To know I'm farther off from Heaven_

_Than when I was a boy._

_--Thomas Hood_

_Chapter 6_

White petals sprayed like diamonds in the early morning sun, whispering dreams of beauty and blood; honey-sweet yet raw, iron visions of lust and love. Sasuke watched, drunk with fascination, tempted almost to reach out and touch one.

"We can go inside, if you want." Kakashi offered, holding his umbrella over the boy, who was already soaking wet and clearly didn't need it.

"I'm fine." He spat. "What do you want?" Kakashi sighed and looked out over the pond where the petals flew, disoriented and random, finally landing softly on the surface.

"I wanted to talk to you about something." Sasuke snorted and turned away from his teacher. The image must have looked classic. A Jounin, tall and dressed causally, though masked, hovering over a small, pale boy, drenched and miserable, sitting half in and half out of the water. The brilliant orange glow of dawn spread over them, bathing their otherwise stern expressions in a warm, earthly light.

Kakashi stuffed his free hand in his pocket and cast a sidelong glance at his student, fidgeting nervously. It was easy to tell someone what he believed in. It was easy for him to try and force those beliefs on other people, to make them understand and live by them. But it was hard to hold back: to just share and not push someone who would crumble if he did.

"Sasuke," He began softly. Something in the back of his mind asked how Iruka went about these things. "Sakura and I… we've noticed how different you've been acting lately."

"I don't know what you're talking about." The boy snapped, his eyes glued to the surface of the water, where he would have seen his feet if it weren't for the reflection. An ivory white petal floated idly past him, undisturbed in the rain. This must be one of those weird rains, he noted, when the clouds are gray but the sun shines in spite of it. He liked to think he acted that way: Brilliant despite a lifetime of suffering.

"I used to be a lot like you." Kakashi removed the hand from his pocket, reconsidered, and stuck it back in. He hoped he wouldn't choke, but it would be hard. The rain made it that much more depressing. "I thought I was better than everyone. I was the only person in the world I needed to look out for." He paused for response, got none, and continued. "I followed my orders just as I was told. I didn't take any time to consider the life of anyone but myself. I was selfish…" Kakashi trailed off as Sasuke pulled himself onto the dock and stood looking at his feet. His hair had grown too long to see his eyes, but his mouth was set in a hard line, and his fists were curled into tight balls.

"You had the right to be." He hissed. His voice was low and harsh, on the verge of cracking. Kakashi blinked and stepped back, confused by the boy's sudden change in aggression. "You're the strongest Jounin in the village, and they're… you said your friends were dead, right?" The older man stared at him, surprise slowly morphing into cool resentment. "If they weren't able to take care of themselves, then obviously they weren't fit to be ninja." The hand in his pocket clenched hard, the tiny stubs of his nails digging crescent moons into his palms. His dull brown eye showed no change in emotion, just a slight twitch of the eyebrow to suggest hatred, loathing, aggravation, and the bitter reminder of his own figure some thirteen years ago. He watched as Sasuke made his way to the gates of his compound with utter disgust.

"Is that what you really think?" He could feel the echo of his friend's words tearing at his throat. Sasuke stopped where he was, but didn't turn back. Kakashi shook his head, knuckles white on the umbrella, eyes burning holes like cigarettes in the back of the Uchiha boy's head. "Is that…really what you think?" Sasuke turned just enough for the Jounin to see the corner of his eye.

"Yes, it is." Kakashi stood at the end of the dock, umbrella in hand, watching a lost boy crawl further into the darkness. He let his hand unclench, disappointed in himself more than the boy, in his failure, rather than his student's arrogance. He felt a new autumn wind rise with the shadow of death, wrapping them together in the moment like music, stripping him of his cool façade and leaving him open to the world. So this was what it was like to be broken.

AN: More of a small add-on


End file.
